Hard Bitten (20 page)

But I have a sat-phone. I could take that with me.”

“That is exceptional,” Luc said, all but shoving him out the Ops Room door. “I’ll be sure to get that information. And say hello to Andy Williams while you’re down there.”

Luc shut the door, then proceeded to bang his forehead against it.

“Interviews not going well?”

Forehead still pressed against the door, he glanced over. “I want to stab myself in the eye with a pencil. This kid’s smart, but his head’s in the wrong place, and he doesn’t exactly have people skills.”

“Then maybe he’d be good on the computers,”

I pointed out. “Even Jeff Christopher has a Warcraft fixation.”

“You are ever the optimist. And I’m not busting his balls for the gaming. I may have cut my fangs in a different time, but I own every current gaming system on the U.S. market.” He leaned in. “And a couple from Taipei no one knows about yet.”

He shook his head. “Nah, I object to the attitude. We’re asking this guy to step in front of a stake for the rest of us if necessary, and he’s waxing philosophical about when it’s okay to disobey orders? No, thank you. Would you trust him to do that for you?”

“Good point. And no.”

“Unless a booth babe was throwing the stake,”

Kelley dryly threw out, her gaze still scanning the black-and-white closed-circuit security images on her computer screen.

“You hit that one on the head, Kels,” Luc said.

“Now, Sentinel, what brings you downstairs, other than your hella good timing? Did Darius scare you down here?”

“Actually, I need to give you a heads-up about something. Could you give Malik a call? Ask him to come down, as well?”

Luc arched an eyebrow. “Got a bee in your bonnet?”

“Not exactly. But I might have a former Navarre Master soliciting humans outside Temple Bar.”

Luc’s brows lifted. “Let me get him on the phone.”

T
en minutes later—and presumably an excuse to Ethan and Darius—Malik joined us in the Ops Room. We put Lindsey, who’d been outside patrolling the grounds, on speakerphone so she could listen in.

“I’m on,” Lindsey said. “Get to it, Hot Shit.”

She really did love me.

“So you know the basics,” I told them. “We previously saw small raves—a handful of vampires, a few people, some drinking. Now we’re talking full-on parties with lots of vamps, lots of humans, and lots of potential for violence.

I didn’t see the kind of violence Tate talked about while we were there—but we pulled the plug as quickly as we could. We know humans are being pretty severely glamoured, maybe helped in part by a drug being passed around.

And we think the human invites are originating from the House bars.”

The room went silent, everyone exchanging looks of concern.

“Your evidence?” Malik asked.

“The phone that got the text about last night’s shindig was left at Benson’s, the Grey House bar.

And another human told us she found out about the party when she met a short man and a woman named Marie outside Temple Bar.”

Malik’s lip curled. “Someone is using our place to hit on humans.”

“That appears to be the case.”

There was only one word for the look in his eyes—determination. “And what’s your plan?”

“Well, in a perfect world, the plan would be not pissing off the GP. But as we know, this is clearly not a perfect world.”

There were general grumbles of agreement around the room.

“Darius wants us safe and sound inside Cadogan House—where, for now, he can keep an eye on us—not stirring up trouble outside the House. But there’s already trouble brewing out there, and if we don’t get a handle on it, things are going to go south very quickly. We can’t just sit here and watch the city fall around us.

“I know I’m young,” I continued, “but I also have an obligation to do the things I think are necessary to protect the House. Even if Darius doesn’t approve . . . and even if Ethan doesn’t know about them.”

I let that implication sink in for a minute, and then dropped my voice. “I’ve given him a general heads-up, but I’m not giving him details, and he’s not going. The less he knows—”

“The less Darius can use him as a scapegoat,”

Malik said.

I nodded in agreement. “Precisely. The short of it is, he gave me a thumbs-up to make the best decision I could, and I want to give you all the same courtesy. The GP is putting enough pressure on the House without me adding to it. If you want to know what I’m doing, I’ll tell you. If not”—I held up my hands—“no worries. You can deny you knew anything was going on, and hopefully that will shield you from Darius if worse comes to worst.”

My piece said, I glanced around the room again.

Luc kicked a booted foot onto the tabletop.

“Are you seriously asking us if we’re not going to take your side against the GP? Seriously, Sentinel? I thought I taught you better than that.

We are a team—and you’re a member of it.”

“And you’re getting better at the speechifying,” Lindsey said. “I think Sullivan’s going to your head. Oh, and I’m totally in.”

Juliet and Kelley smiled at each other, then at me.

“We’re obviously in, too,” Kelley said.

“We’ve known Ethan a lot longer than we’ve known Darius. He may not be perfect, but he’s concerned about the House, not just the politics.”

“Agreed,” Juliet said.

We all looked at Malik, the only one I wasn’t quite sure of. It was not that I doubted his allegiances, but he was quiet enough that I wasn’t entirely sure where I stood with him.

“Your heart is in the right place,” he said.

“That’s all I need to know.”

I smiled at him, then nodded at the group.

“Okay, then. Here’s the plan.”

Fast-forward forty-five minutes to a gaggle of vampires emerging from a cab into the dark, muggy street in front of Temple Bar, not far from Wrigley Field. Me, Lindsey, and Christine

—Christine Dupree, before she lost her name to join the House, another vamp from my Novitiate class—dressed to the nines in chic shades of black, gray, and red and makeupped within an inch of our immortal lives.

We probably looked like the new cast of
Charlie’s Angels
. I was the spunky brunette, Lindsey was the sassy blonde, and Christine

—formerly a brunette—was now rocking a sleek bob of russet hair.

Christine wasn’t a guard, and she and I weren’t exactly close friends. Since we were bringing her into something that could get her in trouble—and demanded her loyalty—Luc gave her a lecture on duty. We didn’t give her all the details about the raves; she only knew that we were looking into bad acts at Temple Bar. She seemed eager to help, which was good enough for me.

As for the bar itself, I’d decided on a new plan—playing the bait.

The Cadogan vamps knew me as Sentinel and Lindsey as guard. But they also knew that Christine was the daughter of Dash Dupree, a notorious Chicago lawyer, and that I was the daughter of Joshua Merit, Mr. Chicago Real Estate Bigwig.

I’d realized at the Streeterville party that I could fake party girl pretty well, so I was going to try it again. And with creds like mine and Christine’s, no one was going to question two socialites mixing it up at Temple Bar, asking questions about new kinds of excitement.

There was a line outside the door. Although humans hadn’t been allowed in the House, Tate hadn’t extended the ban to the bars. Colin and Sean had gotten creative, installing neon signs above the door to help visitors keep track.

Tonight, the HUMANS and CADOGAN lights were lit, which meant vamps from Navarre or Grey were out of luck.

The human part was fine by me, as it would help us accomplish part one of my Temple Bar Infiltration Plan, or T-BIP. Unfortunately, the ban on Grey and Navarre vamps wasn’t going to help. I’d hoped I could use the night to get info from the other Houses about the raves and drugs.

Oh, well. Jonah could get me into Grey House.

As for Navarre, I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

Christine, Lindsey, and I sauntered in like we owned the place, then stood in the front of the bar for a moment . . . to see and be seen.

I took a moment to appreciate the locale.

Temple Bar was practically a shrine to the Cubs, my favorite sports team. The walls were lined with uniforms and pennants, and Cubs memorabilia covered every free spot in the bar.

The bar was run by two redheaded vampires, also brothers, Sean and Colin. They kept all things Irish and Cubbie alive and well in Wrigleyville.

“First stop in T-BIP,” I told my accomplices,

“identifying humans who might have gotten an invite to a once or future rave so we can identify the host.”

“Or hostess,” Lindsey added. “Let’s not forget the Celina possibility.”

“Can we please stop calling it T-BIP?”

Christine put in. “I get that you enjoy acronyms, but that sounds ridiculous.”

“Unfortch,” Lindsey said, “I have to agree.

Unless the acronym is a helluva lot more rugged.

Like ‘DANGER’ or ‘KILLFACE’ or ‘STUN

GUN’ or something.”

I slid her a questioning glance. “And what, exactly, would ‘DANGER’ stand for?”

“Um.” She looked up at the ceiling while she made up an answer. “‘Dedicated, angsty Novitiate girls examining risk’? Or maybe, ‘drugs are never good entertainment, right?’”

“Lame,”
I muttered.

“Aw, sadface. I came up with that totally off the cuff. No props for off the cuff?”

“Ladies,” Christine said, holding up a hand.

“Let’s act our ages and stay on target.”

Lindsey and I exchanged a guilty glance. I’m honest enough to admit that sarcasm and silliness were my preferred methods of dealing with stress. But I had a lot of it, and it wasn’t like I could just break out a Mallocake mid-katana-fight.

Coolly, Christine surveyed the crowd like a lion eyeing a herd of water buffalo—dedicated to finding the weakest link. We figured any humans at a vamp bar were more likely to remember a socialite turned vampire and trust her with their vamp-party information.

“There,” she finally said, pointing with a carefully manicured finger to a couple of human guys in fraternity shirts who, by the look of the empty pitcher on their table, had already done some imbibing.

“I start there,” she said, then sauntered across the room toward her unsuspecting victims. The guys’ heads lifted as she neared them, their eyes going a little glazy, although I wasn’t sure if that was because the two of them had finished a pitcher or because she was throwing out some serious glamour.

“Strong Psych?” I asked Lindsey. That was the measure for a vamp with a lot of glamouring capability.

“Nope,” Lindsey said. “Those dopey expressions are one hundred percent about her lovely lady lumps.”

If so, those lumps were proven winners; one of the boys hopped up and offered Christine a chair.

She took it, demurely crossing one leg over another, then leaning forward to chat with the boys. If they had any pertinent information, I had no doubt she’d ferret it out.

“She is surprisingly good at this,” I said, glancing over at Lindsey. “Is Luc interviewing her for a job?”

“I’m not sure she works,” Lindsey said. “She’s more the trust fund type—which comes in very handy in situations like this. On the other hand, no complaining if we start having dinner in the Dash Dupree Memorial Cafeteria a decade from now.”

I chuckled, then looked over at the bar. “Since her work is under way, let’s get moving on ours.”

“Humans—check,” Lindsey agreed, moving her finger in the shape of a check mark. “Now, shall we hit up the bartender?”

I winked at her and moved toward the bar.

“Just try and keep up, okay?”

Lindsey snorted. “Honey, you may have the steak, but I got the sizzle.”

Only Colin, who was a little older and taller than Sean, was working the bar tonight.

“If he’s solo, it might not be a good time to tear him away,” Lindsey said as she followed me over.

I took her point, but countered with my own.

“We’re nocturnal, and he probably works the bar until sunup. I’m not sure there would be a good time to tear him away, and we need to find out what’s going on.”

We bypassed the two-deep crowd of humans and vamps in front of the bar and went directly to the end of it. I waited until Colin moved toward us, wiping his hands on a towel stuck into his belt, before I popped the question.

“Can we talk in private for a few minutes?”

With a dubious expression, Colin turned to grab two beers out of a small refrigerator, then put them on the bar and grabbed the cash a vamp had dropped there. “Busy tonight. Can it wait?”

“Um, hello?” Lindsey asked, moving beside me and propping an elbow on the bar. “I’m here.

I can watch the bar.”

Colin frowned at her. “Are you up for it?”

“Honey, I spent a decade of my rather glorious life pouring shots in the East Village. These people will be both drunk and entertained by the time you get back, or I’m not one of the top ten hotties of Cadogan House. Seriously,” she added with a glance at me. “There’s a list, and we’re both on it.”

“Nice,” I said. Not bad for a former library-bound grad student.

From hottie to barmaid, Lindsey didn’t waste any time sidling behind the bar and slapping a white towel over her shoulder.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced,

“who needs a drink?”

When the crowd let out an appreciative hoot, Colin put his hand at my back and steered me toward the other end of the bar. “Let’s go to the office. It’s a little quieter back there.”

I followed as he made a loop through the bar.

He worked the room like a seasoned politician: checking on drinks, kissing pretty girls on the cheek, recommending pizza toppings at the joint next door, and inquiring after the parents of apparently human friends. I didn’t know Colin much at all, but he was clearly well liked, as much a fixture of the bar as the Cubs gear and vampires.

When we made it across the room, we stopped in the photograph-covered back hallway—and past a picture of Ethan and Lacey Sheridan, his former flame—and into a small room at the end.